Tuesday, August 07, 2007
The Man in the Plastic Mask
Once upon a time there was a man who had an ugly face. His face was not always ugly; he had been born a normal child with a basically normal face. However, over the course of his life his face became increasingly disfigured until he could hardly stand to look at himself in the mirror. As ugly as his face was, all of his friends’ faces looked much like his own, so at least he felt fairly comfortable around his own ugly kind. At least his ugly friends seemed to accept him for what he was.
One day the ugly man came into contact with some people who had perfect faces, smooth and beautiful with no noticeable blemishes at all. One even deigned to talk to him, and though the perfect-faced man was somewhat condescending, he let the ugly-faced man know that it was possible for him to have a perfect face like his. How could this be, the ugly man asked. How did your face come to be so perfect? I’ll let you in on a secret, replied the perfect-faced man. My face was once ugly just like yours. But when I joined this exclusive club, my ugly face was transformed to become the perfect one you see now.
For months after this conversation, the ugly man pondered these words. A small seed of hope had been planted in his heart. Could it actually be true? Was there a possibility that his ugly face could be transformed into a thing of beauty like the perfect-faced man? One day he decided he needed to check into this exclusive club of which the perfect-faced man spoke. So he sought out the club and with much fear, entered through the front door and took a seat at the back of the room.
As he sat down in the chair, every person in the room turned to stare at him. He was somewhat taken aback when he realized that every face staring at him was perfect. In their eyes he saw many emotions reflected—fear, judgment, anger, pity, loathing. It was all he could do not to get up then and there and simply walk out, but the possibility that he could have a perfect face just like all of theirs held him in his seat. During the meeting many perfect-faced people stood up in the front and shared how their faces had once been ugly, but due to their membership in the club, their faces were now perfect. How he longed to be like one of them!
After the meeting no one talked to him. Some walked by and acknowledged his presence with a cold nod, while others stared in open revulsion at his ugly face. He felt ashamed and fled the meeting without trying to talk to any of the perfect-faced people. Nonetheless week after week he came to the meetings, the hope of one day having a perfect face drawing him back despite the coldness of his reception.
Finally after months of attending meetings he decided he needed to join this exclusive, perfect-faced club. He went through the elaborate rituals designed for members and, although he felt better about himself on the inside, to his surprise no immediate changes to his face were evident. He went on attending the meetings, but it was painfully obvious that he was still as ugly-faced as ever. Sitting in the back of the room he tried to ignore the sometimes hostile or judgmental looks given him by some of the perfect-faced people. Even though he was now a member, still no one paid much attention to him. Clearly something was wrong, and his presence disturbed the others. What was the ugly man to do?
Sitting at home, the ugly man faced a dilemma. Should he quit the club, given his reception by the perfect-faced people? Yet if he did that, his hopes of having a perfect face might never be realized. So he came to a decision, the only possible alternative he could think of: He would help himself the only way he knew how. He would craft a mask to cover up his ugliness, and maybe given time his ugly face would truly be transformed and he would not need the mask anymore.
Although he was not artistic, the man tried his best, fashioning a crude paper-mache mask held in place with a string around his head. He painted the mask with flesh-tone paint and put in on just prior to the perfect-faced club’s weekly meeting. To his complete surprise, this day was to be different than all the rest. None of the perfect-faced people commented on his mask, but many, many people actually talked to him. For the first time he felt that there was a possibility of acceptance.
Over the months and years the ugly-faced man improved his mask, moving from his original crude paper-mache to more sophisticated plaster masks, finally settling on a state-of-the-art plastic, flesh-colored mask that realistically approximated actual skin. At last he had a perfect face just like all the others. Only the man knew that under the plastic mask his face was still as ugly as at the beginning, but he was now a respected member of the perfect-faced club in good standing.
Slowly he came to the realization that all of the others wore masks like his. From time to time their masks would slip and he would catch a glimpse of the true ugliness that lay beneath the plastic. But because everyone in the club played the game, and acceptance was based on outward appearance, the stakes of removing the masks were simply too high; so everybody continued to put forth the effort to keep their masks on and looking good.
At first the ugly-faced man only wore his mask to club meetings, but as years passed it became imperative for him to wear it all the time, at home or at work. Though he was just as ugly as before, he felt that it would be disloyal to the club to admit that their alleged program of true face-change was in fact not working at all. For the first time in his life he felt accepted, and although he knew deep down that its basis was false, it still felt good. So he kept up the masquerade along with everybody else, although it became increasingly difficult to live what he felt to be a double life. He knew that the mask was truly not who he was, but there was never any place safe enough for him to take off the mask and admit the truth. Besides, in all of the years of his membership of the club he had never once seen anyone take off their mask voluntarily for any reason.
Finally one day the ugly-faced man had had enough of the charade. He came to the painful decision that he was going to admit the truth that he was still ugly, and he was going to take off his mask in front of all the other perfect-faced people at the club. Standing up in front of everyone at the next club meeting, the man admitted to all the others that he had worn a mask for years, but that underneath he was just as ugly as before. Nothing had really changed.
During his talk the man reached back behind his head and untied the string that held his mask in place, taking it off in front of the others. He heard horrified gasps as the perfect-faced people saw his true ugliness, some for the first time ever. He told them that he knew that underneath their masks they were all just as ugly as he was, and that if they all took off their masks at the same time, they would realize that they were actually all the same.
Some members fainted dead away; others covered their eyes, refusing to gaze upon his ugliness. Others reacted angrily, muttering, “Who does he think he is? Look how ugly he is!” The club leaders quickly stood up and, grasping him by the elbows, propelled him down the aisle as the perfect-faced club members darted angry glances at him. The leaders pushed him to the door and told him never to return to the club, that his membership was revoked for life.
“But I thought you were my true friends!” the ugly man protested as they shoved him out the door. One leader looked him in the eye and stated flatly, “If you had kept your mask on, we’d still be your friends.”
One day the ugly man came into contact with some people who had perfect faces, smooth and beautiful with no noticeable blemishes at all. One even deigned to talk to him, and though the perfect-faced man was somewhat condescending, he let the ugly-faced man know that it was possible for him to have a perfect face like his. How could this be, the ugly man asked. How did your face come to be so perfect? I’ll let you in on a secret, replied the perfect-faced man. My face was once ugly just like yours. But when I joined this exclusive club, my ugly face was transformed to become the perfect one you see now.
For months after this conversation, the ugly man pondered these words. A small seed of hope had been planted in his heart. Could it actually be true? Was there a possibility that his ugly face could be transformed into a thing of beauty like the perfect-faced man? One day he decided he needed to check into this exclusive club of which the perfect-faced man spoke. So he sought out the club and with much fear, entered through the front door and took a seat at the back of the room.
As he sat down in the chair, every person in the room turned to stare at him. He was somewhat taken aback when he realized that every face staring at him was perfect. In their eyes he saw many emotions reflected—fear, judgment, anger, pity, loathing. It was all he could do not to get up then and there and simply walk out, but the possibility that he could have a perfect face just like all of theirs held him in his seat. During the meeting many perfect-faced people stood up in the front and shared how their faces had once been ugly, but due to their membership in the club, their faces were now perfect. How he longed to be like one of them!
After the meeting no one talked to him. Some walked by and acknowledged his presence with a cold nod, while others stared in open revulsion at his ugly face. He felt ashamed and fled the meeting without trying to talk to any of the perfect-faced people. Nonetheless week after week he came to the meetings, the hope of one day having a perfect face drawing him back despite the coldness of his reception.
Finally after months of attending meetings he decided he needed to join this exclusive, perfect-faced club. He went through the elaborate rituals designed for members and, although he felt better about himself on the inside, to his surprise no immediate changes to his face were evident. He went on attending the meetings, but it was painfully obvious that he was still as ugly-faced as ever. Sitting in the back of the room he tried to ignore the sometimes hostile or judgmental looks given him by some of the perfect-faced people. Even though he was now a member, still no one paid much attention to him. Clearly something was wrong, and his presence disturbed the others. What was the ugly man to do?
Sitting at home, the ugly man faced a dilemma. Should he quit the club, given his reception by the perfect-faced people? Yet if he did that, his hopes of having a perfect face might never be realized. So he came to a decision, the only possible alternative he could think of: He would help himself the only way he knew how. He would craft a mask to cover up his ugliness, and maybe given time his ugly face would truly be transformed and he would not need the mask anymore.
Although he was not artistic, the man tried his best, fashioning a crude paper-mache mask held in place with a string around his head. He painted the mask with flesh-tone paint and put in on just prior to the perfect-faced club’s weekly meeting. To his complete surprise, this day was to be different than all the rest. None of the perfect-faced people commented on his mask, but many, many people actually talked to him. For the first time he felt that there was a possibility of acceptance.
Over the months and years the ugly-faced man improved his mask, moving from his original crude paper-mache to more sophisticated plaster masks, finally settling on a state-of-the-art plastic, flesh-colored mask that realistically approximated actual skin. At last he had a perfect face just like all the others. Only the man knew that under the plastic mask his face was still as ugly as at the beginning, but he was now a respected member of the perfect-faced club in good standing.
Slowly he came to the realization that all of the others wore masks like his. From time to time their masks would slip and he would catch a glimpse of the true ugliness that lay beneath the plastic. But because everyone in the club played the game, and acceptance was based on outward appearance, the stakes of removing the masks were simply too high; so everybody continued to put forth the effort to keep their masks on and looking good.
At first the ugly-faced man only wore his mask to club meetings, but as years passed it became imperative for him to wear it all the time, at home or at work. Though he was just as ugly as before, he felt that it would be disloyal to the club to admit that their alleged program of true face-change was in fact not working at all. For the first time in his life he felt accepted, and although he knew deep down that its basis was false, it still felt good. So he kept up the masquerade along with everybody else, although it became increasingly difficult to live what he felt to be a double life. He knew that the mask was truly not who he was, but there was never any place safe enough for him to take off the mask and admit the truth. Besides, in all of the years of his membership of the club he had never once seen anyone take off their mask voluntarily for any reason.
Finally one day the ugly-faced man had had enough of the charade. He came to the painful decision that he was going to admit the truth that he was still ugly, and he was going to take off his mask in front of all the other perfect-faced people at the club. Standing up in front of everyone at the next club meeting, the man admitted to all the others that he had worn a mask for years, but that underneath he was just as ugly as before. Nothing had really changed.
During his talk the man reached back behind his head and untied the string that held his mask in place, taking it off in front of the others. He heard horrified gasps as the perfect-faced people saw his true ugliness, some for the first time ever. He told them that he knew that underneath their masks they were all just as ugly as he was, and that if they all took off their masks at the same time, they would realize that they were actually all the same.
Some members fainted dead away; others covered their eyes, refusing to gaze upon his ugliness. Others reacted angrily, muttering, “Who does he think he is? Look how ugly he is!” The club leaders quickly stood up and, grasping him by the elbows, propelled him down the aisle as the perfect-faced club members darted angry glances at him. The leaders pushed him to the door and told him never to return to the club, that his membership was revoked for life.
“But I thought you were my true friends!” the ugly man protested as they shoved him out the door. One leader looked him in the eye and stated flatly, “If you had kept your mask on, we’d still be your friends.”
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